Same Time Next Year

It's that time of year again, back to school time.  Which means it's my crying time.  I am, as I am every year, an emotional mess.  I am not the typical mom who cheers the first day of school, I don't do cartwheels at the bus stop, and I don't bask in all of that uninterrupted quiet time I get for 7 hours a day/5 days a week.  Okay, that last one is a lie; I really do enjoy that part.   It's also that time of year when teachers, mommy-bloggers, and positive parenting sites put out these amazing tutorials, blogs, and essays.  They are all such amazing writers (whom I envy) who's stories make me cry.

Our summers are always well spent.  Just the right amount of everything.  We were busy.  We were lazy.  We enjoyed hours at the pool, hours in front of the tv, hours being together.  We kept up with doctor's appointments, play dates, and summer camps.  We did the go go go thing, and we did the stay in our PJs until noon and not the leave the house thing.  Every minute together was perfect.  Except for the few "my kids-are-not-perfect-I-sometimes-lose-it" times.   

I feel like summer is my chance to watch them grow.  If you have children in school then you know that nights and weekends are usually a blur.  For us summer vacation is a chance to slow down, enjoy more family time, and watch them grow.  And just like every summer vacation from school it comes to an end before I am ready.  It happens every year.  Of course when this new school year comes to a close I will have seen them grow even more.  It happens every year.  The whole watching them grow thing is a bittersweet reminder that they are not my babies anymore.  

Tonight I will cry (tears of sadness) for the end of summer.  Tomorrow I will cry (tears of pride) putting them on the bus.  Tomorrow night I will cry (tears of exhaustion) as we come down off that first day back.   Just as I did last year and just as I will next year.  It happens every year.  

The Wrecking Crew

I never thought cleaning my kids' rooms would move me to tears.   We all know legos and colored pencils can cause tears when stepped upon but, simply picking them up...who knew:

Dear Son,
You have two lego tables and approximately 9,000 legos, so it is no surprise that they simply cannot all be contained and must spill out ALL OVER your floor.  As I picked up today I realized that in a few short years this phase will be over and we won't be tripping over, stepping on, and dancing like a maniac around all of the legos.  You're growing up and one day, all too soon, you'll be moving on from lego houses to dorm rooms to your first apartment.  I am totally NOT cleaning any of those, your father was a bachelor once and eww!

Dear Daughter,
I love that next to your bed you keep a journal, a sketch pad, and always a pencil or two or sometimes 50 strewn about close by.  You have always had a hard time saying what you want, but you have never had a hard time articulating those thoughts into written words and drawings.  You have the creative ability that takes most professional artists their whole lives to perfect.  One day you too will be moving on and, as much as I may not like that, I know you'll have new tools to express yourself with.

To the both of you,
For now I will relish in your messy, cluttered, disorganized rooms for when you are older I don't want your memories to be how clean your room was; I want your memories to be what we created, dreamt, built, and played in your rooms.  The day will come soon enough when you put away your childhood play things.  It is a hard day to imagine and one I will choose not to think about.  The next time you hear me say, "Your rooms are a wreck", what I hope you'll hear is, "I love that you're enjoying this crazy childhood where all you have to worry about is what will you play next".  (even if you don't put the first toy away first, sigh)

Love,
Mom
p.s. now go clean your room!

Reflections

I stand before you exposed and vulnerable.  I wish you would turn out the lights or possibly dim them.  I see the way you look at me slowly from head to toe, side to side, your eyes moving slowly.  For a moment it seems to me that you don't recognize me; as though you're seeing me, the real me, for the first time.  For a fleeting moment I think you'll turn and run.  But, you don't run. You stay and look longingly at my features.

And, just when I think I will turn and run away from your gaze you reach out and touch my face.  I think to myself, please don't notice the lines around my eyes.  Your hand moves slowly down to my neck and I hope you are not seeing that my skin is no longer tight. I wonder, "can you love me as I am"?   I stretch long, knowing that this will erase what you're seeing.  Like a ballerina I raise my ams long above my head, touch my fingers together, and present myself long and graceful before you. I turn on my toes ever so slightly to show you my still curved profile.  You appreciate this; this stance erases stretch marks, elongates my once slender hips, and smoothens out the dimples on my legs.

I look deep into your eyes searching for what it is you really see before you.

Then I start to realize that something has changed in the way you see me.  You begin to whisper to me that these changes that had me wishing for darkness have actually made me beautiful again.  Still.  You see the woman before you who has aged with the wisdom that comes from learning the hard way.  You see my scars as evidence that I have fallen and picked myself back up.  You notice the lines around my eyes as proof that I didn't stay inside out of the light; that I got our there, turned my face to the sun, and let myself shine.  You caress my stomach, that is no longer flat,  and know that I have created new life.  You breath into my soul, "you are so beautiful from the inside out and I love you as you are".

Mirror Mirror on the wall, thank you for loving me as I am.

Conversations with my Little Peeps

Fruity Pops:

Audrey: If I had to choose a fruit that reminds me of Dad guess what it would be?
Me: I am afraid to guess
A: Mango
Me: Really? Why? (really, when will I learn to NOT ask this question)
A: Because mangos are kind of spicy.
Me: So Dad is spicy? (again, just stop while you're ahead already)
A: Well, no, but Dad is bad
Me: Dad is not a bad person he's a good guy.
A: You must not be talking about the same Dad who was swearing, yelling, and using "the finger" in traffic.
Me: Okay, I guess Dad is a mango. 
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Testing out patio furniture:

Ian: I really like this. We could put this out on our Paris.
Me: yes, we could turn our outside into Paris. I like that idea.
Ian: No, we can put this ON our Paris.
Me: You mean terrace?
All: LOL
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Mother's Day 2013 Card from Audrey:
Mother's Day Booklet from Audrey. Last page~ My Favorite Experience With My Mom:

"My mom is always there for me when I need her and need to find my courage."

And that my friends is all I will ever need to remember! *sniff*
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True Love:
Working on Audrey's Valentine's with her...

Me: If you wanted to marry "N" you could cuz he's a cutie
Audrey: No he's really smart
Me: Even better
Audrey: I'm going to marry "T"
Me: Oh is he really smart too?
Audrey: (with huge eyes and a grin) OH NO HE'S BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!! 
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Mom: Audrey, did you give "N" a kiss for Valentine's Day?

Audrey: MOM!! Noooo!! But I wouldn't mind!
Mom: But only on the cheek right?
Audrey: Oh yeah, never on the lips because that is disgusting
Mom: Phew!

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Ian: Mom you CANNOT come in for career day as a Stay At Home Mom!
Audrey: Especially in those pants because they are so 2 years ago! 
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Ian upon entering the house last night after Cliff took him to urgent care: Ahhhh, my favorite music (I was playing Christmas music).
Ian: Daddy wouldn't let me listen to Christmas music in the car
Me: Well, did you ask him?
Ian: Yes, but he said no.
Me to Dad: Why didn't you let Ian listen to Christmas music when he asked you, you are so mean.
Cliff: He never asked me.
Me: Ian Michael...what's this I hear?
Ian: Laughing so hard he cannot stand himself!

I should mention my son LOVES any chance he can take to get Daddy in trouble!
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Ian air guitars on his knees across the kitchen floor:

Ian: OW OW OWWWWWW!
Audrey: IAN!!! OH, are you okay?
Ian: Yeah, I slid across the floor and scraped my knee.
Audrey: Well, don't do that!

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Me: Ian what kind of chips do you want with your sandwich?
Ian: Potato

That boy gives me so many epic face-palm moments!!

Me: IAN!!! COME TO THE DOOR SO I DON'T HAVE TO YELL!!
Ian: HuuuuuuuH!?!?
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Prison Camp:
Audrey:  Tomorrow is the day the world ends
Ian:  Yeah, tomorrow we meet our death

Oh for cry eye, drama queens it's DAY CAMP not Concentration Camp!
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Ian while brushing his teeth:  I'm going to need a bucket of water

Ian upon learning the truth about Santa:  Soooo...he's not really watching?  (he said that with a sparkle of mischief in his eye)


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This is my experiment gone wrong ~~Ian almost 8 years old
& Later:
This is what you call making it happen
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You can never have too much sparkle ~~Audrey 10 years old

This is more awesome than awesome ~~Audrey 10 years old

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As of Sunday, March 30, 2014

Stay tuned for what they'll come up with next...

"We're gonna need to go ahead and move you downstairs into storage B."

The title of this entry is from the movie Office Space; if you didn't already know that shame on you!  One of the funniest movies.  Ever.  But what I want to write about is no laughing matter!

Every two weeks we make the drive to Children's Hospital in D.C to the Psychiatric Department where our daughter is seen by one the BEST doctors who specializes in children with Post Traumatic Eating Disorder and everything that goes along with that.   Everything ranging from anxiety, depression, fear, and feeding trauma.

Three years ago when we started this "new normal" with our daughter, psychiatry was on the 2nd floor and her specialist was in the basement.  In the course of remodeling and adding new wings to the hospital psychiatry has moved to the basement and her specialist has gone from the basement, to the 4th floor with a view of all of D.C, to the 3rd floor with a nice view, to the basement with no light.  When discussing these changes with the doctor she said, "There is no money for our department and money talks".  The Diabetes Department now has the 3rd floor with a nice view.

The year is 2013, mental health is still NOT a priority in this country.  I don't want Diabetes research and treatment to receive less funding, I want to see psychiatry receive equal funding as diabetes and all other physical illnesses.  Mental health does NOT belong in the basement; both literally and figuratively speaking.  For years and years people have been taught to ignore their mental health, to hide their depression, to pull themselves up by the boot straps, to move those problems to storage B, so to speak.

We talk about cancer, diabetes, MS, CF, CP, with an urgency in research, cures, funding, and shedding light on the problems.  When we break a bone we get a cast, the world sees we are broken and we even get those casts signed.  When our psyches break there is no visible cast, no one signs their regards, there is no light shed on the problem.  We store those problems until we run out of hiding space.

It is just as important to heal our mental health as it is to cast a broken bone.  Mental health can be, and is, a matter of life or death.  Diabetes and cancer are a matter of life or death so why is mental health still being sent to the basement!!   If anything we need to move mental health to the top floor, the penthouse with the full views, with all of the natural light one can shed on the problem.

Mental health needs funding!  Mental health needs awareness!  Mental health needs to be a priority!  Basements are for storage and hiding unwanted boxes of clutter.  Basements are NOT for mental health.



(I am not editing this post; it just poured out from my heart and my anger, I am not going to make it have rhyme or reason today)

On my honor I will do my best

Long before I had a son, I vowed we would never participate in The Boy Scouts due to their open policies on anti-homosexuality and anti-atheist/agnostic beliefs.   I have said this before and I will say it again, "never say never".  

Tonight is sign ups for new cub scouts for the next school year.  Tonight we sign up our son.  Tonight we choose to put our own policies and beliefs aside so that our son can experience group activities with his peers, make new friends, become active in our community, and step outside of his comfort zone.  Tonight is the night we learn a new way to teach him to be respectful and tolerant of other's beliefs and lifestyles.  Tonight I may very well become the hypocrite I've fought hard not to be.  

I still do not support the policies or the belief system in place by the Scouts.   But, we do support the scout Law: A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.  All of those things we've taught both of our children and we did it without lifestyle or religious influence.  Because you can be all of those things for one simple reason, it's the right thing to do.   

We also have to do the right thing by our son:  let him experience many different things in order for him to find his way in this life.  It is our job to guide him, not make him be something or someone we want him to be.  At the ripe old age of seven he is already accepting of marriage equality, he questions the many theories of religion, and he knows right from wrong.  I cannot let my own internal struggle with the Scout's policies and my beliefs deter him from getting out there and learning.  He may just be the Scout who convinces the Scouts to accept every boy and leader regardless of lifestyle and religion.  Because that's what I've taught him and no one can  undo that!

On my honor I will do my best to parent my son into the right direction; not my direction but, his.  

What I really wanted to say was...

December 1, 2012

This week both of my kids were teased at school.  Neither incident was major.  My daughter, age 8, was taunted on the school bus by an older girl who was just a kid being a kid.  When my daughter stepped off the bus crying we immediately talked to the bus driver, situation was confronted, seats were changed and all was well.   My son, age 6, tripped in the lunchroom and fell...teasing followed.  Again, kids were just being kids...the situation was remedied and all was well.

How did I  handle each?  We asked questions about the situation, talked about what to do, worked through the feelings, tried to understand why other kids acted that way.  But what I really wanted to say was, "the next time something like that happens tell the other kids that if they don't shut their mouths you're going to shut it for them".  OH COME ON....if you are a parent and your child has been teased you can't tell me that the first thing you thought of was smacking the other child around a little bit.  And no, I didn't tell my kids to do that.

We live in a society where bullying in any form is totally unacceptable and responsible parents are using new tools to teach their children how to handle the situations they are confronted with in a non-violent way.  And I, being one of those responsible parents, am following suit.  So, I told my children to ask themselves if they really are those names the other kids called them?  How did they feel and what can they do to remedy the problem?  I asked all the right questions to get them to work it through, I was Mother-Gandhi, we reached a peaceful solution and did not resort to violence.  

What I really wanted to say was left unsaid.  I left their innocent, peaceful, critical thinking, Gandhi like souls in tact.  For now!  :-)